Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

I wakeup late in the afternoon with a groggy head and one hell of an ache down below. Hardly a surprise, really. There are only a few hours to go until the entertainer’s party, and my nerves start up as I stare at the ceiling. No doubt, I’m going to be feeling it. Hopefully I won’t be limping all night long.

Tonight won’t be anything like a proposal. The party is at a posh hotel in Chelsea, courtesy of the agency, and it’s a formal occasion – no matter how eccentric that formal might be. People are going to be making an effort and so will I.

The forum has been bustling with confirmations. There are going to be a load of us there, rocking it with Christmas celebrations. A fair few are based in London, an easy commute, while some entertainers are travelling down from up north, and a few are coming over from Birmingham. Although I’ve scoped out a load of their profiles during my searches, I won’t know who most of these people are. There are just too many to keep track of. Unfortunately, most of the hardcorers won’t be making it. I almost cried when Creamgirl posted that she was going to be busy tonight, but there will be plenty of other people there for me to meet and chat with. More than enough to keep me busy. Not least Ebony.

I’m so thankful she’s offered to meet me outside the venue. It will be like a dream come true, finally getting to meet her in person.

She’s going to be wearing a beautiful full-length gown in blue, stunning, with a dainty gold heart necklace, and delicate drop pearl earrings.

I’ve gone for a black velvet number, tight and fitted, with silver sparkles over the neckline. It’s a heavy drape, and drops all the way down to the floor, contrasted with a split right up the thigh. Chic but festive. Certainly not one to be limping around in.

Ok, time to face the music. I need to move and get to the toilet.

I hold my stomach as I roll over and wrench myself up to my feet. Yowch. It’s sore.

The shower last night hasn’t made any difference to the fact that leftover cum has drenched my panties through. I wipe it all away with a damnit.

After some painkillers and a glass of water, I stay in the shower for an age to sooth my aching bones. This one should have me clean and fresh, ready to roll.

I blow dry and curl my hair, making sure the spirals frame my face just right. I use contouring, and line my lips before applying deep red lipstick. My super dramatic catflicks are accentuated with long, fake lashes, and my push up bra works wonders with my dress, showing off my cleavage without being too excessive.

I wear a silver bracelet, with onyx black stones, and long sparkling earrings. And then for the crown on top, literally – I’ve got a tiara, with gemstones that catch the light from every angle.

I slip on my high black heels and do a twirl in the mirror.

I can’t believe this is really me now. A me with the ability to be exactly who I want to be. The clothes I want, and accessories that sum me up. But not just that. It’s the heart within me. The soul within me. The life within me.

I can’t wait for my parents to meet my new confident self. I can’t wait to see their surprise at the woman their daughter has become. I’m desperate to see them. And, in the meantime, I’m desperate to see my new best friend, Ebony, too.

My heart is thumping like mad as the cab drives me to Chelsea. I catch sight of her before the cab pulls to a stop in the drop off area. She’s standing in the hotel doorway, looking like a Christmas goddess in her gorgeous blue gown. Her eyes shoot straight over to the cab, with a tentative smile on her face, trying to check out whether it’s really me inside as I pay the driver.

She lets out a huge squeal and comes running as soon as I’m out, slamming against me like I’m a long lost relative, and slinging her arms around my neck.

“ELLA!”

I get a lump in my throat, welling up at finally having my friend in my arms.

“Eb! Oh my God, it’s really you.”

She pulls away enough to look me in the eyes, and hers are filling up with tears, just like mine.

“Fuck.” She lets out the laugh I know so well. “I’ll be ruining my mascara already.”

“Yeah, well at least you won’t end up with eyeliner down your whole face. I’ll look like I’ve been throat fucked for three hours solid if I don’t watch it.”

“Better get in there before that happens. At least get through the door first.”

We walk through the magnificent chandelier-heavy reception, pressed close, side to side, and I rest my head on her shoulder in the elevator. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had in my life.

“I’m scared shitless,” I tell her as the elevator dings on the right floor.

“You’ve got nothing to be scared shitless of,” she says. “You’re a high performing stunner, who everyone is going to love. Just like I do.”

Love.

What a beautiful word.

“I love you, too,” I tell her, and she takes my hand again, giving me a reassuring squeeze as we step into the hall.

This place is crazy. Truly. There are as many chandeliers on this floor as there are in the foyer, with strings of lights and decorations between every single one of them. There’s a sign on the double doors in front of us. The Agency.

“Here we are,” Eb says and walks right on in as I teeter beside her.

Fuck, the tree by the dancefloor is the biggest I’ve ever seen, decked out in flashing lights and a zillion golden stars. I can barely even see the angel at the top, she’s so far away. The tree is flanked by two metallic reindeer swathed in multi coloured flashing lights and this place is already busy, with little crowds of people dotted around the room, chatting against the backdrop of Christmas songs. A couple of girls come racing right over to Eb, hugging her so hard they lift her from her feet.

They are Chantel and Sarah. Missy More and Daisy Chain. Two of the girls from Birmingham. I love the lilt of their accents as they introduce themselves. And, oh my God, they know who I am! They know I’m Hollyella from the forum!

“Great to meet you,” Chantel says, and the four of us are straight up to the bar – no cards or cash needed, since the agency are funding the whole thing. There’s champagne on tap, and we take four glasses, holding up a toast with a cheers.

Cheers, indeed.

Cheers to fun, friendship, Christmas, filthy encounters, and all the opportunities the agency has given me. Damn, I’m welling up again at the realisation of just how lucky I am.

A guy joins us after our toast. A brooding, broad shouldered beauty in a tux. Devon.

“Hey, Holly. Sorry, Ella,” he says after saying hi to Eb, and I can’t believe it. Jesus Christ, he knows me, too.

The small groups get bigger as more and more guests arrive. It’s a sea of eclectic wonder, thrumming with a huge variety of styles and tastes, just like the industry we work in. There are princesses in dresses so big they are practically pantomime costumes, and hot guys in suits who look like they’ve come straight from a casino. So many faces and names as they introduce themselves. Some I recognise, some I don’t. Some profiles I’ve seen before, some I’ve never caught sight of – but every single one of them is lovely. Warm, and fun, and full of festive spirit as the champagne flows.

It’s beyond my comprehension to think I belong in this place, with so many incredible people. I scan the room in awe and disbelief, checking out the dancefloor where people are hitting the groove. I choke with laughter when I see someone in Rudolph antlers, and Ebony laughs along with me when I tell her about last night’s proposal.

“He hung your bra on his fucking antlers?!”

But then my laughter stops dead in my throat, my eyes widening as I catch sight of the doors swinging open. Because, no. NO WAY.

A couple walk in together holding hands, raising them above their heads like superstars as the room lets out a cheer.

“Fuck!” Eb says. “I didn’t think they were coming! I thought she was away at a proposal.”

But no. She’s here. Creamgirl is here with us… in a figure-hugging black velvet dress, her pillar box red hair in curls down her back, with a sparkling silver tiara displayed proudly on her head.

Eb elbows me in the side, laughing all over again.

“There you go, see? You’re so fucking similar. She’s even in a bloody tiara.”

Creamgirl sure dresses exactly the way I love, but no. She’s on another level to me. She has sparkles of silver above her cat flicks, and her tiara is bigger, bolder, and so is she. She’s a plus size dream, the incredible curve of her ass tapering into her waist, only to explode again into one hell of a fucking cleavage. She’s absolutely beautiful, and so is her boyfriend – which is hardly a surprise, given how stunning she is.

He’s tall and muscular, in a jet-black suit, with a thin black tie over a crisp white shirt. His jaw is to die for, and his nose is strong and straight. He reeks of cheeky charisma, a huge grin on his face as he leans in to whisper something to her. She lets out a roar of a laugh, and it’s clear she has a cracking sense of humour from the way she tips her head back and slaps his arm.

They are a couple to die for. His brows are shaped as well as hers, and his hair is messy, and punkish – the look I love – just not as unkempt as Connor’s. He has a streak of deep, dark purple at the front, giving him an edge of indie, and the pair of them are so hot they burn their way straight into my eyeballs. I must be gawping like an idiot. I jump as Eb leans in to me.

“And there you have the hardcorers of the hardcorers. What utter beauties. I really didn’t think they were coming.”

“I didn’t know Creamgirl has a hardcorer boyfriend,” I say. “Fuck, what a couple they must be.”

“Eh?” Ebony says. “Oh, no. No. Josh is a hardcorer, yeah, but he isn’t her boyfriend. They’re just friends. He used to be with an entertainer called Magpie, but they split back in the summer. In fairness, she did look quite a lot like Cream, but those two have known each other since they were kids. I think they dated for like three weeks when they were teenagers. Platonic ever since.”

I’m still staring at them as they head through the gathering throng like celebrities.

“Josh,” I repeat. “Which hardcorer is he?”

“Weston.”

Oh my fucking God! I’ve checked out Weston’s profile, but it doesn’t show him like this. Not in such crystal clarity. I’ve mainly seen his massive, pierced cock, and filthy pictures of him using it – in gritty, shadowy images to make it look even dirtier. His intro video shows him working his hard-on, and saying how he’ll use it for anything, but his full face isn’t on it. I didn’t see his hair… and he wasn’t grinning with such a perfect smile…

“His reviews are off the scale,” Eb says. “You won’t see him on chat much, as he keeps himself to himself. He’s bi, and his clients are mainly guys.” She giggles. “Very happy guys, no doubt. And jeez, his cock. He’s pierced, right the way up.”

“Bi, with all the boxes ticked, yeah, I’ve seen that. Just like Cream, Harlot and Bodica.” I pause, staring at him. “I’ve Weston’s profile. I just didn’t realise he was so…”

“Hot?” she finishes for me. “I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out, since you’re such a hardcore stalker. Literally.” She nudges me. “You’d better get your tongue back in your mouth before you dribble all over the floor.”

“Stop it.” I laugh. “I’m not that bad.”

“Whatever. You’re crushing on him, and idolising her like a fangirl. I know you, Ells.”

Yes. She does.

Cream and Weston step up to the bar, standing right beside us when they’ve finished with the first round of hellos. I’m transfixed as they take their glasses and raise their champagne to each other. You can see how close they are from the look in their eyes. I must be still gawping at them like a dickhead, because Cream catches my eye. I feel sick, like a crappy emulation of the queen herself, but she lets out a squeal and closes the distance, grabbing me straight into a hug.

“Hollyella! I was wondering if you’d be here!”

What the fuck–

I can’t believe she’s even heard of me, let alone wondered if I’d be here tonight. She steps back and gestures to our outfits, so similar it’s almost embarrassing. My cheeks bloom, like I’ve been caught out trying to copy her, but her smile is so bright that it’s plain she doesn’t think that at all.

“Congratulations, Holly,” she says. “What an impression you’re making. I was up to my knees in cow shit the other night, and on the way back Mr Mask wouldn’t shut the fuck up about you. I had to promise to swing from the bloody headrest next time he chases me, so thanks for that.”

People clamour around as she compliments me.

“Well done,” she says again, then tugs Josh – Weston – over. “This is Holly,” she tells him. “The stunner who is going to have me bouncing from the headrest.”

Josh looks me up and down with gorgeous bright green eyes, and my legs feel like they’re going to buckle right under me. I feel like I did when I first saw Connor up close, butterflies on butterflies… but I’m twenty-four now, not a teenager. This shouldn’t be happening, but it is. I can’t stop the sensations. I feel lightheaded, a smile still bright on my face as I struggle to handle myself.

Morning after syndrome has nothing on this.

“Hey, Holly,” he says and offers his hand for a handshake. “Tiff’s been talking about you. Says you’ll be in our hardcorer gang pretty soon at this rate.”

Eb claps her hands.

“She will be! I’ve been saying that from the start. You know she took eight last night. EIGHT. One of them hung her bra off some Rudolph antlers.”

Both Creamgirl – Tiff – and Josh laugh.

“Was that at, what’s it called… CR Corporate?” Tiff asks, and I nod.

“Yeah.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah. I did their party the year before last. He did the same to me. I bet they’re the same fucking antlers.” She laughs. “Only he hung my panties from the other side, and then danced in my goddamn stilettos like some kind of joker.”

“I got off easy, then.”

She raises her eyebrows with a dirty sparkle in her eyes, her natural kinkiness twinkling brighter than her tiara.

“Did you, though? I mean did you get off, for real? Taking eight is quite a tall order.”

My cheeks are scorching as Eb, Tiff and Josh all wait for my answer. There are other people around, too. So many entertainers waiting on what I have to say, so fuck it. I take a breath and tell the truth.

“Yeah, I did get off. A lot. I took my first ever fist and got off on that, too. I can’t believe it, honestly. It still hurts like a bitch but it was so crazy hot, it’s unreal.”

My idol, Creamgirl Tiff, gives me a high five.

She turns to Josh. “Ebony is right. We have us a hardcorer right here already.” She pulls me in for another hug. “Welcome to the club.”

It’s most definitely a club I want to be a part of.

I feel almost honoured as Tiff and Josh take a table with me and Eb, and the butterflies are at an all-time high as he sits down opposite me. I try to play it down, breathing steady, and the surroundings make it easier. I’m full on engaged in chat with Tiff about hardcoring, having a million questions that she answers without so much as a flinch. Eb is fascinated too, chipping in with questions of her own. But Josh keeps looking at me. I can feel it. His eyes burn, even when I’m staring over at Tiff’s sparkling eyes and awesome cleavage.

Surely not. A guy like Josh can’t be interested in a girl like me…

The conversation flows, so natural it’s like I’ve known them all my life, but the butterflies don’t stop, and the flutters only get worse. Josh’s grin drives me insane, and his laughter gives me tingles.

“I’ll get us some more champagne,” he says when we’re done with our third round.

Tiff wastes no time. She gestures an elbow in his direction as he walks away to the bar.

“Do you fancy him?” she asks me across the table.

I suck in air. “Sorry, what?”

“Josh,” she says. “Do you fancy him? It’s pretty obvious he fancies you.”

“I, um…” My cheeks are scorching now, probably glowing pink under my makeup.

“Of course she fancies him.” Eb laughs. “Who wouldn’t?”

“Me!” Tiff laughs back. “It would squick me out now. He’s like my brother.” She turns her attention right back to me. “So, do you fancy him?”

“Like Eb said, who wouldn’t, besides you? He’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“And you’re single, right?”

“Yeah, I’m single.”

The tension is so palpable, I can hardly look at him as he returns with our champagnes, but Tiff has no restraint in the slightest. She pats Josh’s knee as he sits down.

“Ella is single, and she thinks you’re hot,” she tells him, just like that. “So, there you go. Foot in the door. You’re welcome.”

He raises his eyebrows at her as he hands over her glass.

“And you’re the fastest matchmaker in creation. At least give me five fucking seconds, will you?” He’s laughing as he meets my eyes. “Sorry, Ella. I do have a spine of my own. I don’t usually rely on Miss Big Mouth to set up my dates.”

“You don’t usually have dates, Josh. I haven’t seen you slaver over anyone this bad since Magpie first walked into the Star Bar.” Tiff takes her glass, kissing him on the cheek before she stands up. “And, yeah, I am Miss Big Mouth, it’s part of the reason I get paid so well.”

He sticks his tongue out at her, and I notice his piercing. Josh’s tongue is pierced as well as his cock. Damn, that’s hot. Could he even get any hotter? I doubt it…

“Fancy a dance, Eb?” Tiff asks.

Eb gives me a grin and a side-eye before she gets up.

“Sure, catch you guys in a bit.”

Josh groans. “Sorry, Ella,” he says as they leave us to it. “Honestly. Tiff’s been going on and on about me meeting you. She’s shown me your profile at least eight hundred times.”

The scorch of my cheeks notches up a level.

“She has?”

“Yeah, constantly. Your reviews really are amazing, by the way. Well done.”

I try to summon all my strength. I remember I’m Holly as well as Ella now. The entertainer. The girl so confident, she can walk into a room full of strangers and take everything they’ve got, without even a hint of a freakout.

“Did you like what you saw?” I ask him, with a smile. “Did you like my profile?”

He nearly chokes on his champagne. “How could I not?” His eyes lock onto mine. “You’re absolutely stunning.”

What a crazy fucking universe.

The gorgeous guy sitting opposite me has seen my slutty introduction video for potential clients. He’s seen pictures of me spreading my pussy for the camera, of me sucking cock, of my bare tits crushed together as I play with my nipples… and he’s saying I’m stunning, like it’s no big deal. Like I’m a girl he’s met right here, right now, at this formal ball in the middle of Chelsea.

He’s heard about me taking a fist for the first time last night, and bouncing around on a headrest, bound in rope, and read reviews of me taking rough, hard cock in the ass… and it doesn’t faze him in the slightest.

But then again, why would it? He’s a hardcorer, too. I’ve seen his hard, pierced cock, just as he’s seen my pussy.

My mind runs wild. I wonder what he’s done and who he’s done it with. What he likes, and what he doesn’t like. What kind of filth he performs for fun. And I wonder what that tongue piercing will feel like when he sucks on my clit.

Holy, fuck. I want to find out.

“So, how about it?” he says with a smirk. “Would you be so kind as to consider a date with me sometime? Even if just to shut Tiff the hell up.” He laughs. “No. I’m being deadly serious. Do you want to meet up? For a meal that is, not an eight-way fucking session, of course. Unless that’s your bag every day of the week.”

I’m nodding before he’s finished speaking. Giggling like a damn schoolgirl.

“Yes, please. I’d love to meet up for a date with you. And I’m more than happy with one cock at once, in the main. Especially when it’s attached to someone truly awesome. I think you might well fit the bill.”

We swap numbers, and my hands are shaking so bad, he notices. He takes hold of my fingers, and squeezes them tight, his gorgeous eyes locking straight back onto mine.

“No need to be nervous. Hardcorers can play it a little bit gentle some of the time.” His face lights up. “I’m a kisser, not a biter. At first, anyway.”

My God, I’d die to kiss him right here and now. He takes my phone and keys in the rest of his number, saving it to my contacts.

Eb and Tiff must have been watching from afar this whole time. They jump up and down, whooping and cheering as they beckon us over.

“Shall we grant them the honour of success?” Josh asks. “Fancy a dance?”

He holds out his hand, and my fingers are steadier this time when I take it.

“I’d love a dance, just as long as my sore, bruised pussy can handle it.”

He leans down to laugh into my ear. “We’ll go for slow, don’t worry. I’ve coped with the after effects of stretch play many, many times. I know the drill. Just wait until you take a fist in the ass. I was in bed for two days straight. My client took it right back in return, though. Tit for tat.”

I stare up at him in shock. His dirty talk is so natural, it’s insane. It suits him as well as his suit does.

The girls are so pleased when we join them on the dancefloor. We dance around to Christmas tunes as champagne flows, and Eb steals the Rudolph antlers from a guy by the tree. We twirl and spin, and Tiff does the best twerk I’ve ever seen. Christmas magic at its best.

“Go on! Give them the performance, Josh,” Tiff says after a while, pointing to a crowd of girls checking him out. “Give everyone a freebie Christmas present. Just a teaser.”

“Fuck off, Tiff.” He laughs.

“I mean it! Give them the performance!”

She’s looking at meas she says them. Her naughty grin says it all.

“Only if you give them yours.”

“Tits for chest? Halfway only?”

“Deal,” he says, and I stare on, amazed by their humour and confidence in equal measure.

A load of the crowd chants their names, Eb included.

Cream and Weston! Cream and Weston! Cream and Weston!

Jesus Christ, when these two get to it, it’s plain to see… I’ve got a long, long way to go before I match Creamgirl at the top of the league. And my pussy doesn’t give a fuck about the pain of fisting anymore when Weston strips his shirt and tie off. The heat has my clit on fire.

What a pair of fucking stars.

Screw the crowd, Josh’s eyes are all on me.

He tugs the string of coloured lights from one of the metallic reindeer and wraps them around himself, lighting up his beautiful form up as he dances. My God, he’s got some moves. Some seriously hot, topless fucking moves.

He’s breathing heavily when he walks up to me with the same trail of Christmas lights in his hands. He snares me with them to pull me up close, and points out the garland of festive fun hanging over our heads… a hotel decoration so apt for the moment.

“How about starting our date right here and now, Holly? Fancy using the mistletoe to break the ice?” Josh says, and I wrap my arms around his neck with a grin, not giving a fuck who is watching us. Those days are long gone.

My lips are ready when he lands a kiss on my mouth. My tongue is craving his, like it’s meant to be. The other entertainers are cheering for us as we grind together in tangled Christmas lights, all set to dance right through until the dawn.

I’ve completed eleven five-star proposals since becoming an entertainer. Eleven days of filthy festive fun that have given me the best Christmas of all time. But here, tonight – kissing Josh under the mistletoe, with my new friends dancing all around – is the icing on the Christmas cake. Another gorgeous gift from Santa, landing right in my lap.

The very best twelfth day of Christmas there could be.